Carrie should've known better than to agree when Trey had called to ask for her help. His statements about the Triple H had hit some hidden, soft place inside of her, reminding her of her Uncle Pat and his ultimatum. Plus, seeing the loyal cowboy in town was like seeing a fish out of water. He belonged on the Triple H.
And then there were the kittens.
Tom and Jerry, the two kittens, had hopped out of the box in Carrie's living room and given her identical snooty looks before going straight to Scarlett and rubbing their faces all over her.
Scarlett was in heaven. She was in love with the kittens, had begged all afternoon to keep them.
Carrie had kept with the firm nos, but her daughter was stubborn. She'd angled for them to nap with her, even though she hadn't napped in ages. When Carrie had gone to check on her—a quiet little girl was often a little girl getting in to trouble—she'd found Scarlett curled around one of her stuffed animals, the two kittens stretched out on the bed beside her.
That had lasted all of ten minutes. While Scar had slept, the two kittens had batted at the Christmas stockings hung from the brick fireplace mantle, ripped up part of the carpet in one corner of the living room, and knocked over a potted plant, spilling dirt across the floor.
At least they hadn't tried to use it for a litter box or attempted to climb her decorated Christmas tree. Small blessings.
Now evening was falling, the earlier winter sunset one of Carrie's least favorite parts of the season. She heard Trey's truck in the drive and went to the front door while Scarlett played on the couch with the orange-and-white kitten.
She'd opened the heavy wooden front door and flipped on the porch light. It flickered and the bulb went out with a pop. She sighed.
She pushed open the screen door and stepped onto the stoop. It was cool through her socks; the chilly night air enveloped her.
The neighbors had strung colored twinkle lights across the lower line of their roof, and that offered a bit of illumination, barely enough to see that the man who passed through the rectangle of light thrown from the open living room window was not Trey.
It was Rob.
She went hot and then cold. A shiver that had nothing to do with the air slithered down her spine.
"You're not supposed to be here."
But her weak words didn't stop him.
Her heart thudded in her ears. She was frozen. She couldn't breathe as fear rushed to take the place of the oxygen in her lungs.
Time seemed to slow as he crossed toward her.
He glanced to the side, and she could imagine his view through the window—Scarlett playing on the sofa, in plain sight.
And the knowledge that her daughter was just inside galvanized Carrie.
She yanked the screen door open, stepped inside, and slammed it behind her, latching it quickly. She knew how powerful he could be—hadn't she worn the bruises to prove it?—and quickly pushed the oak door closed as well.
"Scarlett, baby, go into your room," she ordered.
"Why?"
Of all the times for her daughter to decide to question her. Fear rose up in her throat, making her voice quake. "Now, Scar. Leave the kitties."
Scarlett must've understood the urgency in her voice, because she hopped off the couch and ran into the hall that led to her room.
Memories poured over Carrie as she leaned against the door. Rob's fists pounding into her flesh. He'd cracked one of the bones in her cheeks.
"Aw, c'mon Carrie," he said from outside. "I'm clean. I just wanna see you."
She didn't know whether that was true or not, and she didn't care. "Go away. I'm calling the cops."
She fingered the lock, checking that she’d really thrown it. And then she couldn't remember whether she'd locked the back door, the one in the kitchen, when she'd taken out the trash earlier.
Panic had her running, her sock feet slapping hard against the wood floors and then linoleum. She slid the last two feet and saw that it was locked, thank God.
Rob pounded on the screen, and she could only pray that Scarlett had closed her bedroom door and maybe even turned on the television. She didn't want Scarlett to hear.
Memories buzzed. She scooted down, her back against the wood and her knees pressed to her chest. She bent her head to meet her knees and wrapped her arms around her head. A memory assaulted her.
They'd been divorced for three and a half years. Scarlett had just had her third birthday. Pat was dead. Carrie’s grief was still new, and she'd stupidly opened the door to Rob.
He'd stunk like alcohol and stale sweat, and she'd known letting him in was a mistake, but it was too late. When she’d asked him to leave, he'd thrown the first punch.
She'd screamed for help—Scarlett was in the house!—and that had infuriated him. When she'd fallen to the floor, he'd kicked her. She'd curled into a ball, and his kick bounced off her thigh, the blow radiating pain up and down her leg.
Stupid. So stupid. She’d let this monster into her house. What if he went after Scarlett next?
But thankfully, Scar had hidden in her closet, buried in stuffed animals. Rob had signed away his parental rights at her birth. The restraining order and police report Carrie had filed after the attack should have been enough to keep him from ever having a chance to get a judge to allow him access to her daughter.
But no piece of paper could control that temper.
If he was angry enough, would he break into their house?
Someone pounded on the door at her back, and she yelped.
She stood, shaking. Spied her cell phone where she'd left it on the kitchen table earlier.
"I'm calling the police," she shouted through the closed portal.
Then, "Carrie? What's going on?"
Trey's voice.
Trey.
Her hands were shaking as she threw the bolt. The knob twisted in her hand—he must be turning it from outside.
And then the door was open with a blast of icy air, and she fell into his arms.
"Honey, it's cold out. What're—"
He shifted the both of them inside; she made it difficult for him as she clung.
She knew she shouldn't. It might give him the wrong idea.
But she desperately needed to feel safe, and locked in Trey's arms, she was.
Trey had no idea what was wrong, but obviously something had happened here since he'd dropped off the kittens four hours ago. Carrie hadn't answered the front door, apparently hadn't even heard his knock, so he'd come around to the back.
Carrie was sniffling, her face pressed against his neck, trembling in his arms.
None of that was like her. She was the strongest woman he knew. He couldn't think of one time he'd seen her cry, except maybe at Pat's funeral.
To say it disturbed him was an understatement. But he wasn't getting any answers out of her until she calmed down.
The kittens came into the kitchen with twin meows and began wrapping themselves around his ankles. They were probably looking for their dinner.
He hadn't been inside her house since they'd broken up, and the place smelled like her. Warm, spicy, home. It hurt to be inside, but it would hurt worse if she kicked him out now, if she didn't let him fix whatever was wrong.
After the storm had passed, Carrie gulped a few breaths of air, though she made no move to extricate herself from his arms.
Holding her was both wonderful and painful.
"What happened?" he asked when it seemed the worst of her emotion was past.
But before she could answer, Scarlett rushed out from the darkened hallway. "Trey, Trey!"
Now Carrie pushed away from him, quickly wiping her eyes as Scarlett burst into the room, crying noisily.
She didn't head for her mom, but for Trey, who scooped her up into his arms and held her on his hip. The child sobbed into the shoulder of his shirt. It probably smelled gross. He'd sweated through the white T-shirt worn beneath the used Santa suit. His chin and jaw were abraded from the fake white beard.
"A b-b-bad man c-c-came to the d-d-door, but mama told him to g-g-go away."
His gaze went sharply to Carrie, who'd turned her back, maybe so Scarlett wouldn't see her tears. She glanced over her shoulder, her red-rimmed eyes a horse-kick in the gut.
She shook her head slightly. She didn't want to talk about it in front of Scarlett. Was it her ex? Who else could've frightened her so badly?
He turned his attention back to Scarlett as she went on.
"And I didn't get to finish playing with the k-kitties because Mama sent me to my r-room."
Scarlett's outburst had slowed to the occasional sniffle as she spoke.
"Well, you don't have to worry about that. I’ve got a bucket of chicken out in the truck. The kitties and I will stay awhile, and you can keep on playing."
He didn't phrase it as a question, didn't leave room for Carrie to refuse, though she sent him a sharp glance. He'd figured on scarfing down the chicken on the way to his evening shift at the feed store, but he'd have to call the owner and beg off for the evening. No way was he leaving when someone had come to the door, leaving both girls upset. Even if he wasn't wanted.
Scarlett brightened considerably, and he set her on her feet.
"I'll be right back," he said.
And miracle of miracles, Carrie nodded. She must be really scared if she was willing to put up with him for the evening.
He ran out to his truck and grabbed the paper bucket and the bag that held the side dishes. But he made time for the phone call to his boss and a quick detour to the neighbor's house before he returned to Carrie's place.
"When's school get out for break?" he asked as he delivered the bucket of chicken to the table.
Carrie grabbed three plates.
"Friday is our last day for two whole weeks!" Scarlett bounced across the floor, going to a drawer and fishing out spoons for the mashed potatoes.
He and Carrie crossed paths as he went to the upper cabinet near the fridge, found the glasses where they'd been last time he was here, and took down three.
It was all so domestic that his gut started to hurt. What was he doing here? He should’ve called Matt to come over. Her brother could handle this.
But he didn't leave.
Scarlett was all smiles and giggles as they ate, though she winked at him twice. Maybe thinking about her Christmas secret for her mom?
Carrie was quiet and contemplative and left most of the conversation to him. That was fine for now, but she had to know he wasn't leaving until he got some answers.
He helped with cleanup as Carrie got Scarlett ready for bed, dumping all the paper and Styrofoam containers into one big bag. He took out her trash, which was maybe presumptuous of him, but he didn't care that much. He didn't want to think about her going out in the dark to do it herself.
There were some used cereal bowls and two cups on the counter, and the girls were taking their sweet time—maybe Carrie thought she'd get rid of him if she out-waited him—so he dumped some soap and ran hot water into the sink.
He was scrubbing the last cup when Scarlett ran back into the room. "Trey, Trey! Can you come tuck me in? Mama said it was okay."
Carrie stood in the hallway, silent.
"Sure, kiddo. Let me rinse this." He finished with the cup and pulled the stopper out of the sink. He dried his hands on a towel quickly before he padded down the hallway behind the girls.
He'd been in Scarlett's room a couple of times, but the bright pink walls and profusion of stuffed animals on the bed always took him aback for a split second.
"We ran outta books, so we've got to go to the library, but mama said you could tell me a story, if you wanted, or just listen to my prayers. She said not to pressure you into anything, but I didn't really know what that meant, so she said just leave it up to you what you want to do. So... do you want to tell me a story?"
He sat down on the bed beside her, laughing a little at her chatter. He'd always admired how she could fill any length of silence with her voice. He'd missed hearing about her days in kindergarten—first grade now, he realized. He'd already missed months of Scar-stories. He hated this distance. And soon, he'd be out of her life completely.
"I don't mind telling a story."
Carrie stood in the doorway, watching as he spun a made-up yarn about a boy who'd gone to visit a department store Santa and gotten lost in Elf Town. Scarlett helped him fill in details like the reindeer barn kittens and striped socks that the elves wore.
Her eyes were getting heavy, but he didn't want to leave without talking about it.
He put his large hand over her smaller one. "Kiddo, you know you're safe, right?"
She went quiet, part of the light that was Scarlett dimming behind her eyes. She nodded slowly. "Yeah."
"You still scared about what happened earlier?"
She squinted up at him. Shrugged her narrow shoulders.
"I get scared sometimes," he confessed. Like when Carrie had thrown herself into his arms earlier.
"You do? But you're a brave 'ol cowboy."
He had to smile at her blind faith in him. It was a lot to live up to.
"I do. But do you know what helps? If I'm scared, I tell a friend."
He purposely didn't look at Carrie in the doorway, but he could feel hot emotion coming off of her.
"So if you feel scared, it's okay to tell your mama. Or me. Or your Uncle Matt."
"Or my teacher, Mrs. Gray?" He saw her mind whirling as she got into it.
"Sure. You've got a bunch of grown ups around who love you lots." Him included. "And who'll do anything to keep you safe."
He leaned in and bussed her forehead with a kiss, then got up. The soft smile on her face as she hugged her raggedy stuffed bear made him feel all fuzzy inside, like he'd done something good.
And he took that feeling with him as he went back into the living room to face off with Carrie.
He'd need all the goodness he could get right now to hold onto his patience.
Carrie was exhausted, both physically and emotionally.
The last thing she wanted was to face-off with Trey. She went to the front door to open it for him, praying he would take a hint and just leave, but when she looked behind her, he wasn’t there.
She turned around, one hand still on the knob, to see he'd settled in on the sofa, right in the middle seat with his legs stretched out in front of him beneath the coffee table and both arms extended along the back of the couch. If she sat on either side of him, he'd be in her space.
She growled internally.
"I'm really tired, so..." she hinted, but he only nodded.
"Me too." It wasn't often she saw him without a smile, but he wasn't smiling now. "One hundred and twenty-seven kids. I didn't even know we had that many kids in our elementary school, but that's how many little rascals climbed all over me today. I'd really like to hit the hay, but I don't feel right about leaving until you tell me whether the bad man who scared you and Scarlett was your ex-husband."
Just hearing him say it made her go hot and cold again, like when she'd first glimpsed Rob on the sidewalk outside.
Across the room, the black-and-white kitten batted at an ornament on a lower branch of the tree, making a bell jingle. The sound usually comforted, but tonight felt harsh.
Her hand fell away from the doorknob. She should've known he wouldn't make this easy on her.
Trey's posture changed, as he went from relaxed—had he just been pretending?—to concerned. He leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees.
She hated the way it felt as if he could see inside of her.
"Did you call the police? Because last I heard, you had a restraining order filed against him."
She was cold again, and she wrapped her arms around her waist. She crossed to the wooden rocking chair that had once belonged to her grandma and sunk down into it. What usually made her feel safe was broken, violated. An
d it didn’t matter that Rob hadn't made it inside the house. He’d been here. Disrupted her safe space. Only it wasn’t safe. Probably never had been.
Oblivious to the human tension, the orange-and-white kitten strutted into the room with its tail held high and jumped up onto her coffee table, walking right up to Trey and then butting him in the chin.
He idly rubbed along its back, but his gaze never left Carrie’s face as he waited for her to answer.
"It expired," she whispered. "I didn't file again, because I hadn't seen or heard from him since that night."
There'd been no reason for him to come back into her life. She didn't have the kind of money he'd been looking for then, and she didn't have it now, either.
"Any particular reason you didn't call your brother? Or one of the other hands?" He was such a conundrum. His voice was deceptively quiet and calm, but she’d felt the tension in him when she'd clung to him earlier.
"Or me?" He burst up from the couch, startling the kitten into jumping off the table with a disgruntled yowl. "I know you aren't interested in having me in your life, but—" He cursed. She'd never heard him do that before. "I woulda been here in three minutes, even if I’d had to wear the Santa suit."
He was breathing hard, emotion riding him.
She just felt numb.
His hands hung at his sides, not even clenched into fists. She knew he'd never hurt her, not like Rob had.
She shook her head slightly, breaking the moment. "I just...freaked out. Thank God he left, because if he’d broken down the door... I don't know, I just couldn't get off the floor. I started thinking about…remembering what'd happened before, and I just spiraled down..."
He pulled her out of her chair and cupped her jaw with both hands. "He’s never going to hurt you like that again."
For one terrifying moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. And if he did, she would be so lost...
But he didn't, just stared down at her. The intensity shining from his eyes made her want to trust so bad...
But she sniffled, and a single tear ran down her cheek.
"You can't promise that," she whispered.
Courting Carrie: a Cowboy Fairytales spin-off (Triple H Brides Book 2) Page 3